Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6359056.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Magic_Made_Them_Do_It, Sex_Pollen, Extremely_Underage, Extremely_Dubious
      Consent, First_Time, Size_Kink, Bottom_Sam, Top_Dean, Anal_Sex, Anal
      Fingering, Rimming, Felching, Witch_Curses
  Collections:
      SPN_Masquerade_Spring_2016
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-27 Words: 4404
****** Little Creature You Unspun ******
by Exaggerated_Specificity
Summary
     Written for SPN Masquerade Spring 2016. The prompt was: "Some spell/
     curse/hand-wavy magic grants Dean his deepest, darkest desire: eight
     year old Sammy spread out naked and begging to get fucked."
     John inadvertently brings home a cursed book that has eight year old
     Sam acting out Dean's wildest fantasies. Marked as non-con due to
     magically induced reasons for the sex happening. Don't read if this
     isn't your thing.
                                        
        [https://41.media.tumblr.com/3fc4ed7f2c5e4f9eb7d769d98a1bb486/
                      tumblr_o4on6bFJ6s1qaf2eso1_400.jpg]
Notes
     Original SPN Masquerade post HERE. Tumblr post HERE. The title is a
     lyric from 'The Woods' by San Fermin.
It had taken nearly a week for John and Bill to clear out the nasty coven of
old world witches that had taken root in the sleepy Portland, Maine suburb.
As a rule, most witches weren't all that dangerous but these were the kind that
dealt in the worst sort of magic – mind control, hexes, transmutation, spells
that could grant the wielder’s deepest, most unsavory desires with the
utterance of a few words. They also had a habit of kidnapping babies from the
local NICU to render their newborn fat down for their evil enchantments. They
needed to be exterminated.
Once the head witch was put down, it seemed only fair that the hunting
community benefited from their horde of lore. John had taken the time to tuck a
few ancient manuscripts and thick, dusty, skin-bound books into the Impala’s
trunk once he got Bill settled in the back seat, nursing his wounds.
John had no way of knowing one of the books was cursed. If he had even the
slightest concern he wouldn’t have left it out in the open on top of his
mountain of research while he helped poor injured Bill get back to Ellen and
his little girl, leaving his boys alone in their rental house in Albany, right
there where his oldest could flip through its crumbling pages and accidently
awaken something that would change their lives forever.
                                       ~
By most people's standards Dean was barely old enough to be left home on his
own for one evening, much less being left to serve as parent to his little bro
for the better part of two weeks. He’d done it though, made sure Sam was
dropped in front of his elementary school on time every week day, making the
six block trek to his own school despite the snow. He’d kept them fed and warm
and chased the boredom away by playing cards and giving Sam free reign of their
crummy second-hand TV.
Dean was proud of himself but it still felt like failure when they came home
after school Friday to find John had been home and was gone again, more like a
sloppy apparition than a father. There was no note, just mud and melted snow
trekked across the living room and down the hallway, some clothes missing from
John’s already spartan closet, his research ransacked like he was looking for
something in a hurry.
John called later that night to let Dean know it would be another few days.
“Yes, Sir. No problem, Sir.”
Dean stilled his quivering bottom lip between his teeth. He understood. Bill
was hurt, bad. This was the life he’d grown to know but it didn’t always make
it any easier.
                                       ~
It was Saturday and it was snowing again, the sky a drab, slate grey and the
flakes fluffy-wet as they piled up on the rotting window sills of their aging
bungalow. Still, it wasn’t the worst place they’d stayed. Better than the four,
boxed-in walls of a drab motel room any day. Sadly, it didn’t stop Dean from
being as bored as he’d ever been in his short life.
After eating their last two bowls of off-brand cornflakes he let Sammy watch
‘The Care Bear Movie’ again. He was too young to complain that the tube was
going out on the TV but it was driving Dean nuts. He already had a bad case of
cabin fever, those colorful bears with their high-pitched voices would only
give him a migraine. He gets a dirty look from Sam when he starts shuffling
cards at the coffee table so he slinks down the hall, considering his options.
Sam would only make fun of him if he took another shower. Dean had only
recently discovered the delights of self-pleasure and sharing a room with his
kid brother meant the bathroom was his only choice for experimenting. Sharing a
room with his kid brother was also the exact thing that made his little prick
stiffen up at the drop of a hat. Too bad Sam was as smart as the day was long,
those insightful, gold-flecked eyes felt like they were looking right though
Dean every time he even looked toward the bathroom door. Like Dean didn’t have
enough shame.
He knew it wasn’t normal for the sweet, pink curve of his brother’s school-boy
mouth to get him rock hard and make him leak into his skivvies. He knew it
wasn’t normal to get off to the late-night, clingy nuzzle of a lightly snoring,
slack-mouthed Sam Winchester. He knew he was supposed to be jerkin’ his dick to
big sets of fake, spray-tanned tits in the Victoria’s Secret catalog but it was
the image of Sam’s skinny, pale thighs that made him come faster than anything.
Good thing Sam didn’t still need Dean to give him baths or help him get dressed
in the morning. All Dean could do was stay strong and hope it would stop.
He wanders aimlessly into John’s room, bypassing the sagging, decade old, queen
sized bed to sit down in the rickety desk chair. Xerox copies of newspaper
clippings and scrawled on maps from the last three cases John worked lay strewn
across the floor and a pile of books Dean had never seen before were shoved
haphazardly onto the shelf above the workspace.
They smelled like mildew and incense even sitting back in the chair but Dean
found his hand reaching for the one in the center anyway. There was something
about it, thick as a dictionary with a crackling, blood-red cover. Goosebumps
race up his arms when his fingers slide down the book’s spine, he swears it’s
warm to the touch. He clears a space for it in John’s mess, shoving the piles
of research aside without caution and putting the book down on the pock-marked
wood. The cover is embossed with runes that were unlike anything Dean had ever
seen.
There’s a lump in Dean’s stomach and his vision might even be going a little
fuzzy around the edges but it doesn’t’ stop him from opening it. His cock
lurches where it’s tucked in his long johns as the pages part. Every
dirtybadwrong thought he’d ever had surges to the forefront of his mind, like
the book is pulling them to the surface.
Sam panting. His soft, pink little cupid-bow lips moist, his eyes blown wide
and a little tear-filled. Sam with his shirt hiked up to his armpits, tiny
puffy nipples sucked raw, his ribcage dotted with pretty purple-red welts the
exact shape of Dean’s mouth. Sam on his hands and knees, looking up at Dean,
breathless, begging, the very definition of sin. Sam’s little cock. Sam’s tiny
hole. Sam.
“Dean?”
Sam.
Dean slams the book shut and is out of the chair like a shot, spinning on his
socked heel and nearly slipping on the mess of papers strewn across the carpet.
“What are you doing?”
Sam’s in the doorway, bleary eyed. Maybe he’d fallen asleep watching his movie.
“Oh just – I don’t know, just bored,” Dean stutters, tugging at the hem of his
threadbare Metallica t-shirt to try and cover the boner tenting out the front
of his thermals.
“Oh…” Sam says, his voice a breathy, almost lilting wisp. He keeps looking
right at Dean as he climbs onto Dad’s bed, settling into the center of it with
his knees spread, his feet under his little ass like a makeshift cushion.
“What… What are you doin’, Sammy?” Dean asks, sucking in a ragged breath. His
body didn’t relent from the shock of Sam coming into the room. Normally his
suitcase of big-brother shame was like a bucket of cold water on his libido. If
he so much as heard Sam snooping around outside the bathroom door his prick
would flag the same as it would if he’d stepped on a tack. Dean glances back at
the big, red book, sitting inanely on the desk and then back over to Sam.
His navy-blue thermal shirt used to be Dean’s so the neck’s slightly frayed
where it slips down over Sam’s narrow shoulder. He snakes his little hand
inside the collar, rubbing over his collarbone and neck, massaging at his own
shoulder like he’s trying to work out a knot. But that’s not it, not at all.
His cheeks are flushing from pink to red and his head tips back like his hand
feels good, really good, his lips parted, breathless.
“’S hot in here, De,” Sam says, his eyelids fluttering as his little kitten
tongue slips out to wet his sweet lips. He peels off the shirt, moaning softly
as he continues to rub over his skin, using both hands now, his fingers spread
wide as they glide up and down his arms, across his chest, down into the
waistband of his long johns.
“N-no, Sammy,” Dean shudders. “No, you – you gotta stop this. You – you’re just
– ” He’s locked in place, his stiff, preteen prick is so hard it feels like
it’s sucked in every drop of blood from the rest Dean’s body, rendering him
incapable of putting a stop to this.
“Don’t you love me, Dean?” Sam says wide-eyed, his voice like springtime
sunshine. He’s shoving his pants off now, unfolding his little kid legs and
kicking the soft fabric away.
The words slice Dean so deep he gasps, it’s like a punch to the solar plexus
and it shatters at least half of his resolve. His head’s throbbing, spinning,
his throat is dry but his mouth is fucking watering.
Sam spreads out on the mattress like a kitten on a bed of catnip, his legs
open, his pink, hairless baby boy parts on display, just for Dean, as he chews
his bottom lip and stares his big brother down like a ten-dollar hooker, open
for business.
“Please, Dean. Please, just…” Sammy’s words trail off as he flips onto his
belly, his narrow little boy hips grinding into the cheap polyester comforter
before he pulls up onto his hands and knees. “Just touch me, Dean. Touch me
here.”
Dean can’t look away from Sammy’s pale little ass, the sultry arch of his
knobby spine. Sam rests his chest on the bed as he reaches back and pulls his
cheeks apart. He’s staring squarely at Dean over his shoulder as his skinny
fingers dig into the baby fat of his ass cheeks. He spreads them wide, showing
off the delicate, pink center of all the ways Dean is going to burn in fucking
hell.
Sam’s hole’s barely bigger than Dean’s pinky finger.
Dean’s fists ball up around the hem of his shirt and his jaw clenches fiercely
but he can’t look away. He’s breathing hard and his hips are thrumming with a
thousand unforgiving, held-back thrusts. There are tears welling up in the
corners of his eyes but his baby bro is moaning softly, Sam’s hands running up
and down his inner thighs, tiny fingers tracing over his pink parts.
Dean wants to break every single one of his own fingers, punch himself in the
temple, knock himself out. Something, anything, to put a stop to this right
now. Every atom in his body is begging for Sam, drawing Dean the few feet
separating him from their father’s bed. Sam’s begging for it, whimpering with
need.
Dean always gives Sammy what he wants.
“Oh my god, Sammy,” Dean huffs, his shirt peeled off and his pants shoved down.
Sam’s sucking on his fingers now, face angled back over his shoulder so Dean
can see exactly what he’s doing. Dean’s on the bed now too, his hands a
trembling mess as Sam trails those spit-slicked fingers over his virgin
asshole, shuddering a little as he does.
Dean’s hand is on Sam’s ass cheek, his thumb tugging the soft globes apart,
giving Sammy space to hump back against his own small hand. Dean’s cock
twitches and leaks when Sam slides his middle finger inside. He moans a little
and pulls it out again, getting it right back in his mouth for another coat of
spit before shoving it back inside as deep as it can go.
“See! See, it doesn’t hurt, Dean, pleaseeee… Please.” Sam whines, twisting his
little finger, fucking himself with a shaky hand. “Please, Dean. It’s not
enough.”
Even two of Sam’s skinny digits aren’t as thick as Dean’s index finger. Dean
chews the inside of his cheek raw as he watches Sam get another finger inside.
Sam’s needy hole mouths around his fine boned knuckles on every thrust.
His fingers slip out with a soft pop and Sam rears up onto his knees, twisting
to hook his arm around Dean’s neck, his damp fingers sliding into his mouth,
slipping over Dean’s all-too-willing tongue. It’s Dean’s turn to moan like a
whore, mouthing needy around Sam’s fingers, the bittersweet taste of that pink
little hole exploding on his tongue. It’s a fucking revelation. It hits the
reset button on Dean’s moral compass, his resolve evaporating like it had never
existed to begin with.
Dean’s name is on Sam’s lips between every needy little whimper as he sags back
into Dean’s naked body.
Sam’s wrist bones feel as slight as a bird’s wing when Dean wraps his hand
around them, keeping those skinny little asshole-flavored fingers shoved deep
in his mouth. His other hand slides down Sam’s tummy and cups his tender baby
parts, that hard little cocklet, his hairless, firm sack. Dean rubs them
clumsily in his hand, groaning around Sam’s fingers as his middle finger dips
back over Sam’s taint and into the damp furl of his hole.
He ruts against the curve of Sam’s lower back, leaking so much it must be
trickling down between Sam’s ass cheeks. Only one way to find out. He lets
Sam’s hand fall away and he’s panting against the side of his baby brother’s
neck when he gets the next punch on his ticket to hades.
“Want me to get you open, Sammy babe? Get that little hole stretched enough to
take your big brother’s cock?”
Sam falls apart, whimpering as his full but meager weight presses back against
Dean, his baby boy cock shuddering in Dean’s palm, throbbing and shooting out a
tiny little boy load that drips out between Dean’s fingers.
“God, Sammy. Fuck. Got me so fucking hard,” Dean groans, licking up the side of
Sam’s sweaty neck. His skin is soft and burning like the very fires of hell are
stoked inside him, filling him with need. It’s setting their entire fucking
world on fire.
Dean gets a boy-jizz covered finger inside Sam’s tight little pucker, smearing
Sammy’s runny load all over his ass cheeks as works his too-big finger it
inside. It’s even tighter than Dean’s fucked-up, preteen fantasies had let him
believe it could be. It’s like a velveteen vice around his finger but he wedges
another one in anyway. Sam’s slick’s not enough but the way he’s humping back
against Dean’s hand with his arm craned back around Dean’s neck keeps him
pushing forward, keeps his fingers fucking in deep, twisting in that too-tight
clutch.
“Gonna put you down for a sec, okay, Sammy?” Dean coos against his little
brother’s temple. “Want you to lie on your back. Need something else…”
Sammy whimper-whines as Dean slides his fingers out but he’s such a good boy.
He spreads out just like Dean asked, his eyes huge and damp as Dean gets off
the bed and rummages in the drawer of Dad’s nightstand. The bottle of
Astroglide is nearly empty but it would have to do.
He knees back onto the bed, up near where Sam’s chestnut locks fan out over the
faded floral bedspread. Sam looks at him with need, not confusion, as Dean
presses his thumb into the divot below Sammy’s fat bottom lip, coaxing his
mouth open.
“Think you can suck me, Sammy? Take care of your big brother’s dick while I
work on getting you stretched out for me?”
Sam keeps his mouth open, such a good, good boy, nodding and tipping his head
back further into the bed to open his throat for Dean, like he had already read
all the instruction manuals.
Dean’s never had anyone’s mouth on his dick but every fantasy he’s ever had
seems to be tugging at his limbs like marionette strings, showing him exactly
how it should be done. He knees forward on the shitty mattress, straddling
Sammy's little head, thumbing his cock into his baby brother’s mouth so he can
fuck it while he works on opening his little virgin hole.
Sam groans like a big boy around Dean’s big-for-his-age prick, gulping around
it greedily as Dean reaches down and gets Sam’s knees pulled back.
“Hold ‘em back just like this, Sammy,” he instructs. Sam gets his hands tucked
up under his knees. He’s so, so small. Too small for this.
There’s no reason Dean shouldn’t be shooting his load down Sam’s willing throat
by now, the burning-hot, sopping-wet clutch of his little-kid mouth is better
than anything Dean has ever dreamed of. He glances over at the book on John’s
desk before he flips open the purple cap on the bottle of lube, silently hates
himself for granting it a wordless ‘thank you.’
Two fingers shove back in, butter-slick this time, but still so fucking tight.
Dean feels Sammy gasp around his dick. He’s careful not to cut off his air as
he starts to hump against the back of Sam’s tongue. Sam digs his hands into the
meat of Dean’s thighs, paper thin fingernails digging into his skin.
“Such a good boy, Sammy. God, fuck, such a good boy.”
Sam hums around his cock happily before Dean gags him a little, thrusting a too
deep. The sound makes his balls tense up, his slit weep. Won’t be long now.
Thank god Dean’s libido had him beating off at least a half a dozen times a day
lately. Dean would be ready to give Sam what he needed after this, he was
certain.
“Gonna swallow my load, baby,” it’s not a question. “Fuck, I’m so close.”
He drips more lube down over where his fingers are stretching Sam’s puffy pink
hole, thrusting and twisting in, deeper, rougher every time. Sam’s little back
is arching, he’s humping down onto Dean’s inexperienced fingers, greedy for
more. Dean scissors them, hooks them in before tugging up, his thumb caressing
Sam’s hairless taint.
Sam groans in ecstasy around Dean’s dick, sounding like he just took a big bite
of banana split.
“You like that, Sammy? Like my fingers up your tight little boy hole? Shit,
fuck –“
Dean’s hips jerk, his twitching balls pressed against Sammy’s little upturned
nose as he unloads down that skinny throat. Sam never stops groaning, even as
he struggles to gulp down everything Dean’s got to give him.
Dean keeps his fingers lodged firmly in Sam’s asshole the whole time, gritting
his teeth as it clenches around them impossibly tighter. He can feel his
fingers pruning up at the tips as he leans over and sucks Sammy's little cock
and balls into his mouth while he's still leaking come over Sam’s velvet
tongue.
He’s got all of Sam in his mouth, every quivering, pulsing little scrap of
pink. Dean can smell his about-to-be-deflowered asshole and it makes his mouth
flood with spit. He slurps it up, suckling at Sam’s erection even as his own
cock slips still half-hard out of Sam’s gasping mouth.
As predicted, Dean is fuck-hard again by the time he pulls his fingers out and
gets his snotty-nosed, tear-streaked Sam turned the other way on the bed.
Their first big-boy kiss tastes like baby spit and Dean’s come.
He wipes some of Sam’s tears away with his thumb, his lube slick fingers
tucking Sam’s hair behind his hear. Sam looks like he just ran a marathon but
it’s the most gorgeous thing Dean’s ever seen.
“Love you, Sammy,” Dean whispers as he licks into his mouth, kissing Sam until
the hard jab of his baby dick spills another messy-thin load over Dean’s belly.
“Get your ass in the air again for me, look so pretty that way…” Dean finally
says as he sits back on his haunches, his big, gentle hands getting Sam back
into the position he was in when he broke down the last of Dean’s resistance.
“Hold those baby cheeks open, kiddo. Show me your pretty hole.”
He lubes up his dick with what’s left in the clear bottle, chucking it to the
floor before wiping what’s left over Sam’s exposed asshole. It’s hard to
imagine Dean had two fingers in there just a few moments ago. The rim is pink
and puffy-slick but it’s tightened up again like even Sam’s tiny fingers won’t
fit.
“Please, Dean,” Sam whimpers, eyes slammed shut, his hands clinging desperately
to his ass cheeks. “Please fuck me. Need it, need you.”
It’s a pathetic tear-stained plea. Dean won’t make Sammy ask twice.
“I’ll go slow,” Dean promises, kneeing up close. The golden-blonde hairs on the
top of his thighs rub against Sam’s naked baby-skin, making them both shudder
for it. He keeps Sam’s crack pulled open with his thumb so he can watch. Can’t
miss a single second of taking his baby brother’s cherry. Wants it laser
printed on the backs of his eyelids for the rest of time. He’s going to hell on
a first-class ticket.
Sammy’s got big handfuls of comforter and sheet in those skinny fingers and
he’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t even
cry.
“Breathe, baby. Breathe. Relax for me, let me in.”
Dean is the one who yelps as the head of his dick finally pushes past that
incredibly tight ring of muscle, Sammy’s virgin hole snapping like a rubber
band around his shaft.
“D-don’t stop…” Sam whimpers, reaching back, skinny fingers skittering over
Dean’s sweat-damp thigh, urging him forward. “Want you in, all the way.
Please!”
Dean’s wrapped around Sam’s little finger, Dad always says so. It’s kind of
nice to have Sam wrapped around him for once.
He nearly comes just from feeling the plush press of Sam’s ass cheeks against
his hips. All that baby fat makes for a sweet cushion and Dean stays there,
little jerks of his hips ignored to feel Sam loosen and quiver around him. He
sinks his thumbs into those cute little lower back dimples right above the
curve of Sam’s ass and folds his fingers down around his hips to hold him
steady on the first drag out.
Dean watches the too-red, shiny-slick rim of Sam’s asshole try to follow Dean’s
cock as he pulls out. He thumbs over it as he pushes in again, amazed that
skinny little band of flesh isn’t shredded apart as he begins to fuck in and
out of Sam’s hole in earnest.
The noises Sam makes for him are better than a choir of angels singing. Dean’s
name tangled in-between those honey-sweet yelp-moans, Jesus Christ and the Holy
Ghost all called to name right alongside of the name of his big brother. It
just makes Dean thrust harder. Makes him not want to stop until Sam’s speaking
in tongues.
“That’s right, baby boy. God you opened up so nice for me. Taking me so good.
Gonna come for you again, shoot it so deep.”
Dean’s own words make his balls clench up and they make Sam fuck back onto his
dick like it still wasn’t enough.
There is no way Dean’s load is fitting into that tiny hole. No fucking way.
Dean gets both thumbs tucked in on either side of where he’s fucking Sam open,
tugging those fat little cheeks apart so he can watch his shaft as it begins
lurching in his brother’s asshole.
He slams home when he sees the first hint of white seeping out of Sam’s angry-
red rim, folding down over Sam’s sweaty back as he comes undone, the fire of
his orgasm burning through every nerve in his body.
Their bodies are still heaving, glued together with a slick of cooling sweat,
as Dean’s head finally clears enough to push himself up. Sam’s flattened down
to the mattress and Dean’s still splitting him open, a soggy, slick-hot mess
between his hips and Sam’s little round butt.
Dean holds steady with his left arm and reaches down to holds Sam’s cheeks open
with his other hand as he pulls out. It’s the filthiest thing Dean has ever
seen, ever even thought of. It makes his balls ache again even though they’re
empty, makes his breath go ragged as he watches his shaft slide out. White
streaked pink like a fucking peppermint.
Sam whimpers as the head slips free and his little hips seize up, shakily
humping against the comforter as he comes again, his tiny, eight-year-old body
giving up another impossible orgasm, just for Dean.
“Oh god, Sammy. Stay just like that. Oh fuck…”
Dean’s mouth seals around the swollen, ruined mess of Sam’s boy hole and he’s
hungrier than he’s ever been in his entire life. Despite having just been
fucked that ragged little pucker is still so tiny Dean has to force his tongue
inside with a pained groan. Sam’s body makes Dean work for another taste of his
own come.
He’s making those sounds again as Dean’s fat tongue sinks in deep, shaking
little whimpering gasps, happy little needy moans. He groans lower than Dean’s
ever heard as he pushes out around Dean’s tongue, a copper-tinged flood of his
own come surging out into Dean’s willing mouth.
Sam is such a good boy. The very, very best.
                                       ~
They burn the book out in their tiny, frozen backyard the next day, standing
wordless, hands clasped together in the heavy snow. Dean used a half-bottle of
lighter fluid so it goes up without pause, the smell of it burning too much
like the charred smoke of human remains.
He tries to apologize once they’re back inside, both their clothes reeking of
soot, but Sam just kisses him hard, pushing Dean back on the couch to straddle
his hips.
Thank god Dad won’t be back for a few more days. At least hell will be warmer
than Albany in the winter. Besides, Sam will be right there by Dean’s side, his
soft, pale skin is still as hot as Satan’s pitchfork under Dean’s hungry hands.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!